I MEET the artist Hayley Tompkins in a Glasgow coffee shop during a brief sunny interlude in a week of rain.

FOR most people October is a month. For art world types it’s a secular bible. October, founded in New York in 1976, is the journal that, depending on your point of view, is the voice of radical critique or the delusional product of an inward-looking clique. Unbelievers have even named a syndrome after it: Octoberism.

The flotsam and jetsam of Carol Bove’s sculpture belies a maddening attention to detail the Victorians would have understood

THERE are certain things one must ­always mention when writing about the artist David Shrigley. The first is that he’s funny. The second is that he’s very tall. But after last week there’s another.